


paper crowns of silver and gold

by CamsthiSky



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batfam Week 2018, Batfamily Feels, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Family, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-18 01:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15474243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: collection for batfamweek2018





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> July 29th: Vacation or Separation
> 
> I just decided to do both at the same time?
> 
> Hopefully I manage to do all seven this time? I'll try my best, but literally no promises

There’s a heaviness in Dick’s body when he wakes up that morning.

It starts in his chest, squeezing his heart before it becomes a metal band that squeezes his lungs and constricts his breathing. Then, it spreads from his chest to his stomach, and even at lunch—when he knows he needs energy to get through the next eight hour shift—he can’t manage to stomach more than a single bite of his turkey sandwich.

(Which is a shame, because it’s an Alfred made sandwich he’d brought home after the mandatory Sunday dinner.)

He doesn’t even have the excuse of it being Monday blues or something like that. It’s a Tuesday and he’s actually caught up on most of his work. It’s a miracle, but he really doesn’t have too much to stress over at the moment.

But by the time he leaves the precinct that night, the heaviness has spread throughout his whole body, all the way to his fingers and toes, and Dick’s exhausted with no discernable reason why.

It’s a little maddening.

* * *

_“Sick?”_  Bruce echoes, though he sounds a little distracted.

Dick doesn’t pay it much attention, though, because Bruce usually has a thousand and one things running through his head, and there’s probably at least three separate things he has in front of him. And he still decided to answer the phone. It’s the little things that shows Bruce cares, after all.

“Yeah,” Dick says from where he’s curled up on his living room couch. The TV is on and muted, the subtitles giving Dick an idea of what’s going on, if he’d just read them. But he’s too worn out to follow along with the show and talk to Bruce at the same time. “I don’t think I’m going to make it to Gotham tomorrow morning.”

Hell, he’s not even going on patrol. Just getting up to turn off the television sounds like more work than he can handle. No, he’d much rather not move for the next twelve hours if he could help it.

_“How bad?”_

Which is Bruce speak for,  _If you bullshit me now and I find out you were poisoned, I’m not going to be happy._

“I’m not bedridden,” Dick tells Bruce with a little smile and a teasing lilt to his voice. “Seriously, it’s probably just a cold.”

_“Fever?”_

“No.” Dick frowns. “I’m achy? And abnormally tired.”

_“You’re not going out tonight.”_

Where a year or two ago, Dick might have gotten angry at the accusation, might have bristled at the implication that he can’t take care of himself, might have flipped over the fact that Bruce thought he could boss him around, now Dick just laughs a little and confirms, “I’m not going out tonight.”

There’s an undercurrent of worry to Bruce’s words, after all, and like he’d said before, it’s the little things with Bruce.

A few moments of silence pass by, and Dick—usually so chatty—lets it. Bruce is quiet on a good day, but this feels like something else. Like he’s been called away because something cropped up and Bruce is processing it. Dealing with it.

To confirm his guess, Bruce grunts,  _“Talk to Tim for a minute.”_

(Sometimes it scares Dick how well he knows Bruce. Sometimes.)

_“Hi, Dick,”_  Tim says.

He doesn’t sound too stressed, so Dick doesn’t ask why he’s suddenly been transferred to his little brother. He might never find out, even if he asks, and Dick’s dealt with Bruce far too long to worry about every single thing Bruce doesn’t tell him—he only worries about the important things.

Besides, Dick is always happy to talk to his little brother.

He makes a happy noise. “Timmy! It’s been like seven years since I talked to you!”

_“I saw you Sunday night.”_  Tim sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, and Sunday was like seven years ago.”

Tim’s probably rolling his eyes by now.  _“It was literally two days ago.”_

Yep, definitely rolling his eyes. He’s such a  _teenager._

“Too long,” Dick says, and the moment the words are spoken aloud, Dick realizes it’s true.

He digs his way deeper into the blankets and tries to ignore the feeling of his apartment feeling too large and quiet around him. It’s just him and a muted TV, and while it doesn’t feel suffocating or anything like that, especially with Tim’s voice in his ear, it does feel a little empty.

He’s lonely. It’s not an uncommon feeling since his move to Blüdhaven, but he’s usually able to drown out the feeling with patrol or work, and now, curled up on the couch, too exhausted to move, he feels it immensely.

Suddenly, he wants to be back at the manor, listening to his crazy siblings bicker around him. He wants to hear loud bangs and indignant screeches followed by screeches of laughter from the second level. He wants to hear bustling in the kitchen, and the patter of paws and jingle of collars. The sound of classical music from Damian’s room. Rock from Tim’s. Stephanie’s bubbly laugh and Cassandra’s quiet one. Jason’s curses when he thinks Alfred’s not within earshot (but Alfred’s  _always_  within earshot).

It’s only been two days, but there’s a big part of him that’s  _missing_. It’s natural, probably, considering the way he trusts each and every person in his big chaotic with his whole being.

But also, he just misses  _Bruce._  He misses Bruce’s grunts, and his laughter that sometimes sounds like a cat got stuck in a blender, and the way Bruce will tuck his cape or blanket or coat around Dick’s shoulders as if he can physically comfort any pain or sadness away. He misses the forehead kisses and the way Bruce used to tuck him into bed and the way he’d just look at Dick and  _know_  something was wrong.

He’s not alone by any means, but sometimes living in a different city is almost like he’s living in a whole other world. And he doesn’t visit his old world enough.

On the other hand, he  _likes_  living in Blüdhaven. He likes living alone and having the freedom to make his own choices. He likes being Officer Grayson. He likes being Nightwing of Blüdhaven. He likes helping people in this city both during the day and the night. It feels like he’s making an impact here.

To an extent, Blüdhaven is home now. But so is Gotham.

God, he doesn’t have the energy to think about this anymore.

In his ear, Tim’s rambling about something Damian did this morning, and Dick startles when he realizes that he actually hasn’t listened to a single word that Tim’s said. He just  _majorly_  zoned out.

_“—and he didn’t even say thank you!”_  Dick should speak. He doesn’t. Just lets Tim keep going and going, and Dick just kind of…listens. It’s not that unnatural. He’s always encouraged his siblings to talk to him, and most of the time, he really does just listen, but he’s probably been just a bit  _too_  quiet, because not a minute later, Tim says,  _“—don’t even know what I’m going to do. Hey, are you still there?”_

Dick hums.

Tim goes silent, too, and there’s just this quality to it that has Dick rolling his eyes. “I’m just tired, Timmy.”

_“Tired,”_  Tim repeats, sounding somewhat disbelieving. There’s a pause again, a creak of a chair. And then Tim says,  _“O-kay. You’re sick?”_

Ah. Looking at Bruce, then.

Dick shrugs, even though he knows Tim can’t see him. “Maybe. I probably just picked something up from the precinct. There were a few people out last week. Could have spread.”

_“How convinced are you?”_

Dick sighs. “I don’t know, Tim. I’m tired.”

_“Symptoms?”_

“Tim, seriously,” Dick says, frown pulling his lips down. “If it gets worse than I’ll go to a clinic or call someone, but I’m fine.”

_“Okay,”_  Tim says, and Dick can hear the frown on his lips, too. He sounds less enthusiastic about talking to Dick than he had before.

“Tell me about your trip with Kon and Bart,” Dick requests, hoping to change the subject.

Tim immediately charges into a story about his friends, and Dick listens to the best of his ability. At some point, though, Tim’s voice dims to a small buzzing in his ears, and Dick’s eyes droop closed.

He falls asleep on the couch.

* * *

At first, he’s not sure what it is that wakes him up. There’s a distant banging that’s grating on his ears, but it’s nothing compared to the pounding in his head and the unnatural warmth sitting just beneath his skin.

The banging stops, and there’s muted yelling that Dick’s brain can’t quite comprehend.

He decides to just go back to sleep.

* * *

 

“Up,” someone’s saying, a lot closer now than the yelling had been before. Close enough to shake his shoulders, and Dick blearily opens his eyes just as hands grip his upper arms and pull. “Come on, Dickiebird. Get up.”

“I’m up,” Dick mumbles as he stumbles to his feet—right into someone’s chest. He stares at the leather jacket for what has to be a good thirty seconds before it finally registers who exactly this leather jacket belongs to. He blinks up at his younger brother, feeling more disoriented than ever. “Jason?”

Jason rolls his eyes and pulls Dick out of the living room and into the bedroom. From there, he helps Dick get under the sheets. Dick goes to grab the comforter, too, but Jason strips it from the bed before he can do much more than lay a finger on it.

“Hey,” Dick whines, feeling a lot more awake now.

“You’ve got a fever.”

“This is my apartment. You can’t boss me around. And I’m older than you.”

Jason snorts. “Never stopped me before.”

Dick doesn’t argue. Instead, he sighs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his nose as he leans back against the pillows. “ _Why_  are you in my apartment?”

Jason opens his mouth to answer when Tim barrels through the bedroom door, face flushed (with exertion?) and runs face first into Jason’s back, sending the both of them flying onto the bed. Dick just laughs.

Tim’s head pops up with a grin as he and Jason untangle themselves. “Dick! You’re not dead!”

Dick blinks. “Was that a big concern?”

“Apparently,” Jason says. “Kid woke me up at ass o’clock in the morning to drive over here and check on you. Never mind that he’s a legal adult with a driver’s license.”

“I needed you for moral support.”

“Since when am I  _anyone’s_  first choice for moral support?”

“I didn’t say you were my first choice.”

“Okay,” Dick says, clapping softly so that both of his younger brothers look over at him. “Seriously. Why did you break into my apartment?”

“Screw you, I did not  _break in_ —”

Dick stares at Jason, and says in his very best  _I’m serious and I’m not about to laugh_  tone, “I refuse to believe that you entered this apartment through anything that could be consider an actual door.”

“He wanted to go through the vents,” Tim supplies.

Dick believes him.

“Fuck both of you,” Jason snarls, but it’s not serious. There’s a whiny undercurrent to it that makes Dick grin. “Why am I even here?”

Dick throws up both of his hands in the air. “That’s what I was asking!” he exclaims—or. He tries. His voice gives out on him halfway through  _was_  with a strange crackle, and then Dick’s bending over with the force of a his coughs.

By the time he’s finished, Tim is anxiously hovering, and Jason’s face has gone from indignant to mildly concerned.

He waves them both off and leans back against the pillow. “So,” he says past the tickle in his throat. There’s a raspy quality to his voice now, but it’s not too bad. It might get worse the more time passes, depending on how bad his cold is, but he’d expected this yesterday. “My apartment’s the newest hang out spot for teens these days, is it?”

Jason rolls his eyes. Tim just sighs.

“You fell asleep on me last night,” Tim tells him, plopping down on the bed next of him. “I was worried, so I came to check on you. Figured if you were still feeling crappy we could have a sleepover. Like a vacation until you feel better.”

Dick fails to suppress a smile. “Mhm. And this doesn’t have anything to do with Damian?”

Tim refuses to acknowledge that question with an answer.

Jason, on the other hand, crosses his arms and glares. “Heck no.”

“Jasooooooon,” Dick whines. “I don’t feel good. I want cuddles.”

“You’re a lunatic.”

“So are you.”

Jason has no sympathy for Dick, though. “Cuddle Timmy, then.”

“Oh, I will,” Dick says. “But I want cuddles from you, too.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m sick and needy and you have to give me a hug.”

“That’s not even remotely a fact,” Jason complains, but he flops down on Dick’s other side anyways.

Dick grins, and amazingly, the apartment doesn’t feel quite so empty anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 30th: Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super short, sorry about this, but I wanted to do something fluffy for this prompt, and I didn't have a lot of time to write it. Still, hope you enjoy!

“Do I even _want_ to know?” Bruce asks when he walks into the gaming room. His children—most of them, anyways—are sitting around a pile of blankets in front of the TV, giving him expressions of perfect innocence, and honestly, that’s the thing that’s setting off his _my-child-has-stolen-the-Batmobile-again_ alarm.

 _That_ probably hasn’t happened in the past twenty minutes since he’d last talked to Tim, but they’ve done _something,_ and Bruce is seriously debating whether he actually wants to be involved in whatever shenanigans his brood (Clark’s word, not Bruce’s) have cooked up now.

None of his children respond. Jason and Stephanie are snickering, Damian’s sulking, and Tim and Cassandra are holding poker faces so well done that Bruce might even be impressed if he didn’t know them as well as he did.

Bruce’s sigh is long-suffering. “Whatever you broke, stole, or graffiti’d, it better be fixed by the time Alfred comes home from the store. If it’s not, don’t come crying to me.”

Jason breaks first, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Bruce doesn’t want to know. He goes to turn around, to walk out the door and pretend that this incident didn’t happen, so he can feign innocent to Alfred when something is inevitably broken later.

He doesn’t expect to be stopped in his tracks by the muffled yell of his oldest.

Bruce slowly turns back around, and makes eye contact with a smiling Cass, who is now sitting atop the mound of blankets Bruce is beginning to suspect is not a mound of blankets at all. They stare at each other for a good twenty seconds before Bruce’s eyes flicker down to the blankets. Then back to Cass. Then Tim, Damian, Jason, and Steph. No one gives anything away.

Finally, Bruce, says, “Don’t suffocate him,” and leaves, making for his original destination: the kitchen.

Behind him, he hears five laughs and an offended, muffled “ _Traitor!”_

And if Bruce smiles, well, no ones exactly around to see it.


End file.
